


First knights

by Niibeth



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Abuse, Crime Fighting, Ecology, Environment, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Investigations, M/M, Millicent the cat - Freeform, Period-Typical Racism, Russia, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-09 07:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12271938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niibeth/pseuds/Niibeth
Summary: In the Noughties, son of a KGB functionary, Alexander Hux, buried his career in the blind alley of Moscow Interdepartmental environmental prosecution office. Venya Odinokov left his family to protect those who cannot speak, and changed his name to Kylo – almost as cool as an Axe, but also sounds fashionably foreign. They have met when Hux in his office suit climbed a tree.





	1. Rise of Titanic

**Author's Note:**

> English is my second language, so feel free to point at the grammar errors.  
> Legal details are based on my limited experience and memories. So, sorry for the factual errors as well.  
> The work is completed and I hope to post the next chapters soon.
> 
> You are welcome to talk to me in Tumblr - [Niibeth](niibeth.tumblr.com)

Alexander Hux arrived at his office late in the morning. Long dark corridor with blinking fluorescent lamps was filled with happy sounds of computer games. Prosecutor Sergei Sergeevitch played an ancient game of Moorhuhn, cursing elusive birds. Assistant Faina multitasked between solitaire and arguing with her relatives over the phone. His fellow deputy Mitya submerged in the Heroes 3. When Hux entered, Mitya made a feeble attempt to close the game window, but then relaxed and continued conquering the land with his army of dead.

Hux pushed his soaked shoes under the radiator and changed to his office pair.

\- How’s Titanic?  
\- Has drown again.

That dragged Mitya out of the game.

\- How?!  
\- Fucking winch snapped, the boat sunk again, and tractor got stuck in the mud.  
\- Holy shit! I wish I saw it.  
\- I wish I didn’t… How’s Tamerlane?

Titanic was their name for a case of probable water contamination. The owner of the old motor boat filed a complaint, suspecting that his rivals from exotic tribe of people willingly sailing on Moscow-river deliberately sunk the boat. To make his claim more serious he evidently exaggerated the value of the boat and added that he had two full canisters of gasoline on board. This morning he followed Hux on the river bank like a lost dog, both happy that the prosecution tried to draw the boat out of the water on state expense and scared of becoming a suspect in environmental crime.

At least it could be an environmental crime. Though Hux doubted that the river had any aquatic environment left to damage.

The case of Tamerlane was a clear case of crime against the human life. Since they had no backlog - thanks to Hux - Sergei Sergeevitch decided that they should help the colleagues from district prosecution. Two owners of flower-stands fought over the woman. The fight ended in a death of her husband – Timur, so – Tamerlane. The deceased has carefully tape recorded his discussions with the suspect they had over the phone and home intercome. Then he went out to talk personally, and half a dozen neighbors witnessed his death. Evidence was plentiful. Mitya bided his time, choosing between “homicidal intent” or “intent to inflict a bodily harm that lead to death” in his conclusion. What is true and what will work better in the court – often were two different things.

Hux finished his report on Titanic and was going to leave for dinner, when Faina brought him a fax from district. Initial skepticism soon changed to excitement. Illegal construction in the protected natural area, not less! Local pensioner, who used to walk his dog in the park, found out that his favorite walking ground was now fenced and guarded. Guards rudely advised him to go away. Concerned citizen turned to the park administration and heard an even more rude advice concerning his direction. Then, in a perfect soviet bureaucratese, he stated his sorrows and sent them to the last friend of a little man – to the prosecutor. A student assistant in a fit of enthusiasm has sent the complaint further according the proper jurisdiction.  
Dinner forgotten, Hux rushed to register the incoming materials. He has sewn a first sheet to the cardboard case and imagined the same folder, but fat and bursting with professionally prepared documents. Interrogations, crime scene maps, expert reports… Rows of cardboard folders diligently stitched with thick white thread...

Now, requests. Request to the park administration, request to the Cadaster chamber. The latter will answer soon. The first may take longer. The severity of a law compensated by optionality of its execution. What now? He opened the web-browser and searched for the mentions of illegal activities near the Deer Ponds. Serial killer, exhibitionists, vandals, no, no, no… The only mention of suspicious construction led him to the godforsaken page on the free and ancient web-site building platform narod.ru. Page named Knights played the melodramatic violin intro from Waste Wind. Nothing good can come from a page with music you cannot turn off, but Hux still tried to read the text. The owner of a site creatively chose purple cursive font on black background and started his rant with an elaborate quote from Nietzsche. “Mom’s little nihilist”, - thought Hux and closed the tab.

Office stood empty – no one hurried back from the dinner. Finally, the surge of restless energy gave him an idea to visit the park and see things personally. No questions, no papers, just a walk.

Place called Deer Ponds indeed consisted of a chain of small artificial ponds surrounded by bright autumn trees. Janitors still cleaned the main path and emptied – not too often – waste bins, but the area was neglected, left for dog owners, teenagers, drunk and criminals. 500 meters into the park and things turned interesting. Freshly painted barrier guarded a perfect line of asphalt, where the map shown no roads at all. High green fence surrounded a decent piece of territory.

Hux slowly walked along the fence. He tried to remember how the instructions measured a meter of a natural reserve ground. And if they have also taken a part of the river bank? Water contamination, illegal clearance... Large scale damage! Devil knows how they bribed the park administration.

Inquisitiveness pushed him to look over the fence. He found a nicely bent tree, climbed up and whistled. Manicured lawn surrounded a spacy mansion, several smaller buildings, a garage. The tree branch creaked and when he grabbed the next one, one of his damned shoes fell right into the puddle. Shit.

\- Do you sing, bird?  
This time he almost followed the course of his shoe.  
A stranger appeared unheard and unnoticed. High scarecrow of a man in a black leather jacket, black jeans, black t-shirt with single word – Knights. "Some metal fan or how those folks are called?"

Hux climbed down with as much dignity as he could muster.  
Scarecrow peacefully kicked his shoe out of the mud. Hux has shown his certificate – quick enough to show the emblem with the two-headed eagle and not to show the word “environmental” – and asked the man’s documents.

\- I’m October's bastadardly son, - quoted a stranger, turned and run away.  
\- Shit. Shit! – First step and he went right in the same puddle.

Fluorescent lamps blinked in the same pattern, smell of boiled cabbage rose from the cafetorium. Sergei Sergeevitch still enjoyed his luxurious dinner somewhere, Fiona talked to relatives, Mitya meditated over the Tamerlane case. Hux tossed his shoes and socks under the radiator and checked the e-mail.

\- Do you know a band called Knights? Rock, metal – something like this.  
\- Mmm, no, look in Yandex.  
\- Too many results.  
\- Wait. Just Knights?  
\- Yea.  
\- It is not a band. Oh, have you been there during the pest of minks?  
\- Pest of what?  
\- Twelve thousand crazy minks! Some fuckers broke into the fur farm and freed them.  
\- No way.  
\- Yes! Farmers went mad. I heard one mink has bitten Sergeitch, he had to take a rabies shot... That’s why he doesn’t go into the field anymore. But what I wanted to say, the credit was taken by eco-terrorists called Knights. But the police found no one. Where have you seen that name?  
\- Oh, on a leaflet, in the Metro.  
Hux had no wish to share his stupid adventure.

Everybody left, but he lingered. Warm empty office seemed much a nicer place then cold streets or the flat he shared with his father. The place was spacy, dusty, with high ceilings and wide window sills filled with oversized ficuses and delicate violets in mismatched plastic pots. He imagined a coat or a sleeping bag in the corner. He already had an extra toothbrush. And he could take a shower in a sport-club downstairs… Ah, sweet dreams.

When he was leaving, Sergey Sergeich suddenly entered the corridor.

\- Hux! Still here, fine, I hoped to catch you!  
\- You could call me anytime, Sergey Sergeevitch.  
\- Oh, didn’t want to bother, in case you went home in time. By the way, about well deserved rest. When is your leave this year?  
\- In November.  
\- Know the joke? Petrovitch, do you like sweaty women and warm beer? No. Then you will have a leave in November. A-ha-ha!  
\- A-ha-ha, - politely answered Hux.  
\- So, I thought, - prosecutor amicably touched his shoulder – We can’t turn the time and give you a leave in August, but what if we speed things up a little and send you to the warm sea in October? Off-peak season, I heard, Italy, Israel, Turkey? No school-children, no extra heat, good for the skin...  
\- I think I can wait till November.  
\- Sure? Since I’m here, we can just go to my office and I’ll sign the papers.  
\- No, thanks, Sergey Sergeevitch. I, um, work according to the graphic and want to leave things in order.  
\- Ah, I see.  
The prosecutor retracted his hand as if it burned. He looked at Hux with strange compassion.  
\- Well, at least go to sleep early. A-ha-ha. You know the joke: who gets up early, breaks up early.  
\- Ha-ha.  
\- Good evening, Sasha.  
\- Good evening, Sergey Sergeevitch.


	2. Florists wear Adidas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People around Hux are going bonkers and they don't give him a chance to have a snack.

“Turkey, Israel!” – Hux steamed. In office he kept his face neutral, but on the way home he looked too grumpy even for the Moscow underground. It didn’t matter, in what month he had a leave. His wage didn’t allow him a trip to a seaside resort. He’d prefer not to leave the office at all. Living with his father never was fun, but now, after Marina died and Service has sent their old intelligence officer into unwanted though honorable discharge, father’s sharp mind deteriorated day by day. And his meanness only progressed.

Hux knew how the evening will pass. They will eat the food he prepared in Monday. Father will watch evening news on full volume. He will eat messily, leaving bread crumbs, tea stains and sugar. Sound of the sugar falling on the plastic table cover has become his hated sound number one. Marina cleaned the flat passionately. After her death the duty transferred to him as a younger member of the family. And he was surprised by how much a burden it was.

During the day father has watched the news for 6 or 7 times already. And if some fucker would not commit a terroristic act right now and get in the breaking news, he will know the text by heart. His commentaries will be pure poison. During the sport's round-up he will finally turn to his son and ask:

\- So, how is… work?

The dismissive tone of voice is enough to send Hux-junior through the roof. He has chosen that job long ago. He never wanted to serve in Federal Security. He has written his first article about the petroleum gas flare in Kapotnya and it's environmental impact in senior school. But he will probably only impress his father if he saves the President from assassination. Which may only happen if someone starts an illegal toxic waste disposal right in the Kremlin.

The closer Hux was to the entrance of the 5-stories house, the heavier were his steps. He entered the flat with the feeling of Deja-vu. News told something about the President. Father argued with thin-lipped lady on the screen and messily slurped the soup.

\- You are late! – he shouted.

Suddenly Hux lost all the appetite once again.

\- I… have eaten on the way home – he shouted back, - Good night!

Father didn’t turn and continued his discussion with the TV-anchor.

…

Hux woke up five minutes before the alarm turned on. He was so hungry it hurt. He dressed and went to the kitchen, hoping that father would not be there. No such luck. As many old people, he woke up early. Hux gathered the dirty dishes from the past day and washed them meticulously, dreaming of four fried eggs with baloney, wishing his father to leave.

\- Sit, - older Hux suddenly said in a grave tone.

He sat down with a towel in his hands.

\- You are going to office today.  
\- Yes.  
\- You will have an appointment.

Something went wrong. Hux imagined his office planner in a black leather with a golden eagle. Pages turned before his inner sight and show no important appointments for the day.

\- You will talk with respected people. And you will apologize.

“That’s it. Senility” – Hux though, imagining a trouble of calling the state psychiatric ambulance.

\- I had a call today, Shurik, - father explained and staggered, almost falling from the chair.

That, his hated form of a name and a stale breath cracked the riddle. Father was drunk. Drunk to the point, after which he usually started a fight or fall asleep. Breakfast forgotten, Hux jumped to his feet and went for his coat and gloves.

\- You hear me? You, you are nothing here and your name is nobody! – he tried to follow his son, but couldn’t order his feet to move.  
…

The encounter with father made him distracted and he noticed the shadower only on the third station from home. And it was the lamest surveillance he had ever seen. Yesterdays’ scarecrow – "Or how has he called himself? October's son – What is it? – November? Is he a Scorpio? Or is he an October revolution?" – watched him from the opposite end of the metro coach. He tried to behave normally which doesn’t fit him at all, so he already attracted attention of a small child. Child pestered its mom with question she answered with an angry hiss:

\- No, you cannot have pictures on your fingers like a mister here. Why? Why? Because your grandmother would not like it. Yes, she likes museums. But she doesn’t like pictures on hands. Not, not on your neck too.

Hux ordered himself not to smirk, slowly closed his eyes and relaxed. He waited. On his station the sound of commotion and angry curses told him what he needed – shadower knew, where he worked and decided to leave the coach. Then he noticed that Hux is still inside and returned, pushing the unfortunate passengers out of his way.

Hux kept pretending to sleep. One, two, three. On the fourth station he stood up in the last second and left the train. The follower pushed people aside once again. Hux didn’t turn his head. He walked upstairs, keeping to the right wall, deftly turned right and entered the police room. Bored Metro policemen were happy to help a colleague after he flashed his certificate and used his official tone.

He went outside. The man was still here. He stood near the ticket barrier trying to spot Hux. Their eyes met. “Nice eyes”, - Hux suddenly thought and felt the tiniest twinge of guilt. “Well you can’t let some madman stalk you just because he has nice eyes”, - he thought. Then Metro policemen charged at the man like two mongrels attacking the Afghan hound.

Hux smirked and quickly went downstairs to catch a train to office.

…

This time the office corridor was spooky silent, doors to the separate offices shut. Once again, he thought about his planner. Do they have an audit, a planned visit he has forgotten? When he hanged his coat, Faina suddenly emerged from her room and hurried to greet him. He didn’t understand what was wrong with her at first. There was no familiar click-clack of her high heels, she walked soundlessly in her tights. And she whispered:

\- Where have you been? Why don’t you answer my calls?  
\- What’s going on? Have I missed something? – he automatically started whispering too.  
\- Don’t know, but Sergeich is bonkers. Especially about you. Look, take your coat, go home and I will tell that you called ill. One-two weeks on sick leave – and he will forget whatever has bitten him this time.

Before Hux could refuse, Sergeich himself looked out of his office and barked:

\- Faina! I asked you to prepare cases!  
\- Yes, Sergey Sergeich.  
\- Sasha!  
\- Yes?  
\- I will call you. Be in your office, please.

Mitya was in his place, up to his ears in the papers.

\- What’s going on here?  
\- Oh, Justas to Alex – it is a first day in my life I see you coming late. But you'd better have stayed home.  
\- Has Sergeich told you, why is he so mad?  
\- No, but he has sent me to archive. Go don’t know where, search for don’t know what.  
\- Himki?  
\- Right, two hours and fucking suburb train.  
\- Well, then go quick. And you will not be here when shit hits the fan.

Mitya shoved the papers in his brief case and went to the door.

\- Hey. If anything – call me in the evening, we can have a beer or something?  
\- Sure, good luck.

Hux stayed alone. He opened the mail, but there was nothing that could shed a light on the situation. Then he searched in the drawers, in case he had any chocolate bars left. Nothing. He was going to search Mitya’s desk, when landline phone rang. Sergeich invited him to his office.

He opened the door and saw that prosecutor had a guest. The guest has taken the most comfortable chair and smoked, despite the strict ban on smoking in state offices.

Hux has never seen the man before, but he knew him. Everybody in the enforcement knew. Dymov was a criminal arbitrator, god knows, perhaps since Stalin times. He was ancient. Crowned thieves came and went, and Dymov stayed. Some off-limits rogues from 90th tried to set him on fire, when he was in a sauna. The girls died, but Dymov survived.

\- Here he is, our… promising young deputy. Clean hands, cold mind, flaming heart… just like his father, - said Sergeich.  
\- Older Hux had no heart, - creaked Dymov.

Was it a smile?

\- So, what I was talking about. Officially there is no investigation.  
\- The complaint is registered, - said Hux, finally understanding.

Sergeich waived his hand dismissively.

\- Nonsense. Pensioners are always complaining about this and that. We will send a formal decline in the due time and it is all settled.  
\- I have sent a request to the park administration.  
\- So, what? They will send a formal answer as well.  
\- But there is a construction site! A fence, a mansion, houses, communications, paved road!  
\- No, there is not.

Dymov pronounced the last words with such calm assurance, that for several seconds Hux believed him. "I was never in the park. Or I have been, but I have seen nothing. I have fed the ducks. Walked under the maple trees", - he thought. He shook his head.

\- So, case closed. Alexander will go to his office and finish the minor details, – Sergeich tried to smile.

The illusion dispersed.

\- No. I will not, - said Hux stubbornly.

…

That’s how he found himself on the street with a brief-case and a plastic bag. The bag held his favorite mug with the mentioned quote from Dzerginsky – gift from Mitya. His spare shoes, his toothbrush and an empty picture frame for a family photo – a never used gift from Faina. And he was probably not in service anymore.

He slowly walked in direction of his house, still processing what happened. That’s why when he noticed them, it was too late.

First was a bloke with a cheap bouquet of chrysanthemums in his left hand. Flowers covered the lower part of his face, a woolly cap – the higher. Two others has fallen behind. One big and one small and jittery – perhaps, with a knife. Guy with the bouquet stepped forward and said:

\- Flower delivery! – and Hux evaded the first punch.


	3. All things beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In last chapter everyone, it seemed, turned against Hux, but someone was looking after him as well.

He had a perfect plan – first, step in the direction of the bigger guy, second – run. He could do 100 meters in 14 seconds, and those three looked like smokers. But he miscalculated: the wardrobe-type moved smooth and quick and met him with a well-aimed blow to the solar plexus. Next blow sent him to the ground. He curled, trying to protect his face. Now everything depended on how much suffering they were paid to inflict.  
First kicks were too fast, blurred and bearable, attackers jostled and prevented each other from beating shit of him in earnest. Then the kicking stopped, and he heard shouts and steps moving away from him. He carefully peered between the fingers. Four pairs of shoes were trampling mud and dead leaves several meters from him. Squinting he recognized black and red military style boots November wore this morning.

Something clanked on the pavement. It was a rubber-bullet handgun Osa, useless farter, unless your assailant kindly stands still, not farther then three meters from you.

“Delivery” guy, perhaps, the most responsible of the trio, left his comrades to deal with unexpected menace and turned back to Hux. Who kneeled and shot him straight in the eye.

Dull shot sound and following wail of pain finally attracted attention of the onlookers. Several schoolgirls stood by the memorial to Great Patriotic War and already started making videos with their phones. Street cleaner was shouting something in his native language. Lady with a stroller was fervently digging for her phone in a purse, as though she participated in a contest: who will call the police first. Hux stifled a desire to show his certificate and call to witnesses – he didn’t have it with him anyway. The florists calculated the risk and run to the parked car with a dirty number plate. He was still daydreaming about his certificate and a proper course of actions, when November took his hand and pulled him in the opposite direction, breaking into a run too.

Closer to the Metro station they changed pace to a less suspicious fast walk. And only then Hux remembered to withdraw his hand from November’s warm hold, after he noticed a judgmental glance of an old lady, who was selling aloe by the Metro entrance.

His heart still raced, and he looked anxiously around in the train. For the first minutes everybody gave an impression of a spy, an enemy, a mercenary. Then he ordered himself to calm down. These were the common commuters, as most Moscow residents conditioned to keep poker faces in public. It would be a question of honor for them to ignore Darth Vader himself marching with his troops by the Red Square. Two men, fresh from a fist-fight, absolutely nothing interesting to look at.

But still, the train carried them in the direction of the center of the city, filled to the brim with police, hidden cameras, private guards.

\- Where are we going?  
\- To Chistye. I know a squat there.  
\- And any district police inspector knows all those places.  
\- Well, it’s only a crush pad. You look starving. Dying.

This time the fiery brown eyes had more power over him. Instead of walking away as a reasonable person, he asked a stranger his name. Kylo. “Well, – he scolded himself: “What were you waiting for – Petrov Ivan Ivanovich?”

They left the Metro, passed the usual companies of goths and random leather-clad drunks on Chistye, and lost themselves in the curved alleys of old Moscow. The city gradually became hushed, almost no cars moved there, no shops or restaurants to be seen. Their point of destination was an old five-storied building with flaked plaster. No elevator, no coded lock, smelly mess at every corner and on the stairways.

\- What has happened to this house?  
\- Neighboring district administrations cannot decide, who must take care of it. So, they don’t remove the garbage and don’t do any repairs, but the residents don’t pay for water and electricity – they can’t, nobody sends them the bills.  
\- Typical.

Badly lit corridor went on and on. Some doors were metal and boasted rows of tough locks, some were wide open, showing emptied or messy rooms. He spotted a communal kitchen, occupied, it seemed, by ghost-looking meth-addicts. One, cleaner room, was taken by a company of people talking in agitated but hushed voices. They decorated their meeting room with a poster proclaiming independence of Siberia. In his current state Hux couldn’t guess, was that a prop for some role-playing game or a real political statement.

Finally, they entered a small, furnished room. Muted TV-set showing a romantic series, company of malnourished cats met guests with cries, a bed, who’s owner buried themselves in a mound of crocheted plaids. Hux could only see a crown of greasy hair and hands crocheting a new design, as though the inhabitant of the room was going to make a cocoon and turn into a plush butterfly.

\- Sit, I’ll see what we have.

The moment Hux sat on the chair, decorated with another crocheted plaid, of course, a bright orange cat jumped on his lap and started purring menacingly. The deep sound made all her little body shiver and she was very inclined to stay.

Kylo rummaged in the fridge and on the shelves, turned on a little electric teapot and produced halve of a bread loaf, package of Viola cheese and two Doshirak instant noodles packages. "A perfect Gastarbeiter dinner", - thought Hux: “What is happening to me?”

\- Spices?  
\- Yes, please.  
\- Oil?  
\- No.  
\- You are right. Production of palm oil harm rainforests.

Hux thought to himself that Doshirak oil tastes more like an engine grease and, first of all, harms human’s innards, but he was close to fainting and not inclined to argue. While he ate – sharing cheese with the cat, honestly not so much sharing as giving tribute to a fierce red warrior – Kylo prepared tea – Georgian "tea with an elephant", the only brand that doesn't pack the tea-boxes in plastic - he commented - found some chocolate whitened from age and then dug out a heap of second hand clothes. Anyway, they were better than his ruined office suit…

\- Delicious.  
Kylo smiled openly, like a teenager.

The smile shed a light on his, other way scary, face. A range of old yellowish and fresh purple bruises, deformed nose and differently deformed ears, snagged teeth... Hux didn’t have to ask how he managed to overcome two policemen in the Metro. Man was strong, broad, but bony and underfed at the same time. Muscles intertwined and moved like ropes on his hands and neck. Hux understood that he stared. Kylo stared back, his eyes now warm-yellow like a weak tea.

\- You are welcome to the Knights, - he said.  
\- There are no knights, right? There is only you. That’s why no one was ever caught.  
\- There will be two of us, if you join me.  
\- Sorry. Thanks for all that. But I have duties, responsibilities… Friends. I have… family  
\- It’s yours.  
Kylo has thrown him his old Nokia.  
\- You have dropped it on the street.  
The phone was covered with a spider web of cracks, but still functioned. Hux faltered, not ready to check the inbox.  
\- No messages, right?

…

Ugly grey khaki fisherman costume and a pair of military boots – comfortable warm clothes were one of advantages of his strange new life. And uglier they were, the more invisible he became on the street. But now there was no one to see him. Still, he even had a short fishing rod. After some tinkering, Kylo made it shorter and much heavier. And perhaps useless for fishing. Do people ever go fishing at two in the morning? He used it to break the camera.

After he finally climbed over the fence, Kylo was already in the yard, petting the giant Central Asian shepherd, big as a bear, and as dangerous. The dog raised its head, but decided that enthusiastic belly rubs are more interesting then protecting the house from Hux.

\- You said you will poison the dog! – Hux hissed  
\- And why? He is a good boy. Who’s a good boy? You are, Bars, Baaaarsik, look, what they done to the breed, look at his poor paws, he has arthritis, and no one cares, right, they don’t care, Bars.

Hux sighed. Kylo reached a state of awe upon meeting any animal. The only human who seemed to deserve the same adoration at certain moments was only Hux himself. He had already five equally humiliating pet names, coined by Kylo. Sometimes it bothered him.

Well, they had work to do.

Kylo has been investigating the manor and its surroundings from the start of construction. But his plan A was still a “let’s set it on fire” variety. Only reason that stopped him was a danger to surrounding park and it inhabitants.

Hux had a better plan. Illegal construction site had its advantages and disadvantages. Guards, walls, cameras and original design of communications was its strong point. Scared architect, greedy foreman and a company of underpaid illegal workers barely speaking Russian – were the weak ones. Hux has easily feigned a Security service agent to talk with first one. Together they threatened the second. And then Kylo have found the workers, showing an unexpected basic knowledge of Tajik language. The last bear no good will to mansion owners and were happy to help. Now they knew the set-up of the place probably better than the owners. They finished the preparations in an hour. Kylo helped Hux to climb over the fence this time. The dog, who quietly followed them the whole time, sadly whined behind the wall.

\- No, Kylo, we can’t take him with us.

They had a place in the box seat – among the branches of an old oak. And prepared to wait.

First shouts were heard at 6.17. They came from servant’s house. Drain waters flooded the house, and workers, who were first to raise in the morning, found out the nasty news. Soon shouting became a level higher: water and a little help from Kylo has left the whole complex without electricity. Loud bangs proved that guards couldn’t open the stuck gates, so now no one was going to leave the place, at least in the car. Finally, third act – explosion was not very loud and was not planned to hurt anyone. But it turned on a cacophony of car alarms and started a small but persistent fire in the storage house. Kylo dug out a bag of dried apples in his pocket and offered to Hux. Behind the fence the dog barked, then whined, as beaten. Kylo frowned.

Hux made his move and then tosses the burner phone into the river. Firefighters arrived 25 minutes later – he was convincing. They passed a friendly raised auto barrier and stopped by the gates. The guards have managed to raise them finally, and now they tried to stop the fire brigade from entering. They could be successful, but then local police arrived, disturbed by a well-rehearsed call.

Kylo jumped down, saying he need to piss, and returned with a grinning dog. It wagged its tail and half a body as well.

\- Kylo! No!  
\- Hux, look, he is so smart, he run away and found us.

The play was moving to the finale. Several luxurious cars with toned windows arrived from the city to solve the problems with police and firefighters, closely followed by press. First unwanted guest was a team from local cable TV, hungry to be first on a scene. Second - professional reptiloid-hunters from a yellow newspaper. And finally, after checking their informers, arrived a solid police reporter. That’s when a first gun shot blasted in the park.

“Try and hide this”, – though Hux and said:  
\- Let’s go.

Kylo hugged him with one hand, feeding treats to the dog with another. He was clearly in a flirty mood, and Hux couldn’t blame him. He felt giddy himself, after a job well done.  
\- You are so puffy in that coat, puffy and grey like a baby swan.  
\-- Swans are proud and strong birds, Kylo. And they are white. Or black.

Kylo laughed:  
\- You have never seen a cygnet, Hux, right? We must return here in the spring, I will show you a swan family, I know well.

\- What if Millie will not like the dog? – Hux changed topic, turning to the last resource.  
\- Millie will not like the big warm guy she can boss around? Really, Hux, she is your twin, kind of mini-Hux, so, maybe I’m wrong and you are a cat…

\- Stop jesting, - he said and silenced the knight with a kiss.


End file.
